White Lips, Pale Face
by dolphinlover562
Summary: Inspired by the Ed Sheeran song: A team. Gangs!Human!AU. Rated for dark themes. Prostitute!Addict!Castiel, Cop!Dean, Lawyer!Sam. It has been 5 years since the downfall of Lucifer Grace, the feared king of the well-known street gang Demons. As the cop who brought him down, Dean is now on the hunt to disband the gang forever. Eventual Destiel, maybe other side pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors Note: So I was listening to the radio and the song A Team by Ed Sheeran came on, and this plot bunny decided to eat at my brain until I wrote about it, so here it is. Expect updates… actually don't. I'm really bad at updating, so just never expect them. Each new update can be a surprise! This follows canon as accurately as it can being AU, but I hope you will enjoy.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

_White lips, pale face__  
__Breathing in snowflakes__  
__Burnt lungs, sour taste__  
__Light's gone, day's end__  
__Struggling to pay rent__  
__Long nights, strange men_

A blond male straightens his clothing one last time as he heads for the door. The room around him is dimly lit, black walls absorbing most of the light coming from the single fluorescent lamp attached to the ceiling. A bed covered in blood-red sheets sits in the far corner, but the sheets have long been pulled off and pile on the floor. The white mattress peeks out from underneath the last red blanket hanging on the bed. The floor is covered in more black, a heavy black carpet that muffles the sound of the man's footsteps as he finally arrives before the door. He reaches out to twist the doorknob and steps out of the room silently, entering the equally dimly lit hallway. The heavy wooden door swings shut behind him.

Blue eyes flutter open at the sound of the door swinging shut. There is another male in the room, and he swings his legs over the bed slowly. His eyes squeeze shut again from the sharp pain that shoots up his spine, but he ignores that in favor of heading towards the door. A long tan trench coat lays splayed out on the carpet, and the man bends down slowly to pick up his coat. There is another sharp sting in his spine, and he can't help but let out a little gasp at the pain. Straightening up again, he slides the bills the blond man placed earlier in his hand into a hidden pocket on the inside of the coat, and his arms into the oversized sleeves. He wraps the coat around his naked body and ties the belt around his waist.

The blue-eyed man stumbles a little as he makes his way out the door and down the hallway. The lights had been turned off hours ago, the establishment closed at two. The man turns to read the clock on the wall, and the 3:30 AM shaped flashing green light stings his eyes mockingly. His hands turn white from gripping the railing as he makes his way down the stairs. More pain, but duller this time. Easier to ignore. His feet finally find the last stair, and the man breathes a sigh of relief as he walks onto level ground. The stage to his right is empty, the heavy outer black curtains pulled shut so that only a few inches of the wooden base is visible. A DJ booth sits to the opposite side of the club, almost completely obscured by the shadow of the stage. The normally crowded dance floor is empty, and the colorful glass panels that make up its floor are turned off. They look their normal clear instead of the flashing neon colors that shine when customers are around.

The man walks slowly along the left-hand wall, passing by rows and rows of tables. The chairs have long since been put up and the floor underneath mopped for tomorrow's… or is that now considered today's crowd. Finally, he arrives at the bar. Layer and layers of bottles are stacked neatly in the cabinets, and the entire area still smells like alcohol. He ducks underneath the table and walks into the back room.

A hand reaches up and knocks against a door. A black plate reading manager is nailed to the side of the door.

"Come in." The blue-eyed man pushes open the door and enters the manager's office. Like the room he was in before, this one is also covered in heavy black carpet and black walls. However, this room has a jet-black desk sitting in the middle of the room instead of a bed.

"You always have to give me the most demanding ones, don't you?" The man asks. His voice is deep for someone of his build. Crowley just scoffs, smoothing a hand over his suit.

"Come on, Kitten. You know you're my best man. Can't have anyone saying the service was bad, now can we?" Crowley reaches into his desk and pulls out a clear plastic bag. A black ribbon is tied to the top, keeping the contents inside. A spiky red D is clearly written in… well, a spiky red D is written on the end of the ribbon. Castiel eyes the white powder inside the bag hungrily. "Catch, kitten" Crowley tosses the bag over towards Castiel.

The bag easily slips through Castiel's fumbling fingers and lands on the floor. Castiel wastes no time in snatching it up greedily and tucking it into his trench coat. He turns to leave, his payment received.

"See you tonight, kitten. Don't be late. You're booked all night." Crowley calls out after him as Castiel walks out.

The nightclub is just a short block away from Castiel's apartment, but he still finds it exhausting to travel such a distance. The alleyways are dark this time of night; the only things lighting his way are a few half-broken streetlights. Castiel's not quite sure how he manages to make it back to his shabby apartment, but before he realizes it he's already inside and the door is locking shut behind him.

The inside of his apartment is covered in dust. The tiny kitchen, if it could be called that, has cupboards covered in dirty dishes and take-out boxes. The main area has one shabby couch sitting in the middle of the room, beige covering ripped open to expose the stuffing inside. To the right, a door leads to Castiel's bedroom, which has one lonely bed and nightstand.

A fire escape is attached to the one window that provides some natural light into his apartment, and doubles as his balcony. A bird feeder sits nicely in the center of his makeshift balcony, the bottom filled to the brim with food. In the daytime, there would be ten to fifteen pigeons eating from it at a time. However, Castiel pays none of this any attention.

Castiel barely has time to take his money out from his pocket and place it on his nightstand before he is reaching for the needle in the top drawer.

White powder spills out onto the floor as Castiel fills the needle as quickly as he can. When he gets as much powder into the syringe as his shaking hands will allow, he throws the bag to the side as he prepares the shot. The powder dissolves as Castiel adds water into his shot.

With one practiced movement, the tip of the syringe breaks skin and the water-powder mixture is flowing into his bloodstream. Castiel sighs in happiness as the last few drops are pushed out of the syringe, and he slowly removes the needle and tosses it back into the drawer.

He can feel the effects already, energy pumping through his system. Castiel jumps out of bed, and runs to the living room to enjoy his next half hour of bliss.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Yay an update! So I'm trying the best I can, but I've never actually been in a nightclub and I'm totally guessing on all this crime stuff. Any reviews/critique would be helpful and awesome! I always feel like my characters are OOC.**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **_

Bees buzz happily around Castiel's head as he fills the bird feeder on his balcony. He's not quite sure where the little insects come from, but their soft hum is comforting. With a flutter of wings, another pigeon joins the three that are already seated on the fire escape, waiting for Castiel to finish. Castiel straightens, and the pigeons are flocking towards him, diving for the food. He smiles softly as the birds begin to feed. In reality, the only food he can offer them is the scraps from his latest cheap take-out place, but they seem to enjoy the Chinese vegetables that he sliced up into small pieces.

The bees buzz their goodbye as they leave to find more flowers to gather honey from, and Castiel climbs back into his lonely apartment. Closing the frayed bed sheets he used as curtains, Castiel strips down to bare skin and tosses his shirt and pants as far away from him as possible. They weren't his anyway. Everything in the apartment technically belonged to Crowley, including the apartment itself. The only thing Castiel could claim he owned was the tan trench coat still piled on the floor from the morning.

Actually, if Crowley had his way, Castiel wouldn't even be given clothing. But as Crowley put it, "those pesky social norms" forced the gang leader to provide a shirt and pants so that Castiel could be seen outside. In response, Castiel walks around the apartment naked as much as he can so the silk fabric ("only the best for my best worker") doesn't have to touch his skin.

The pleasant buzz from both the bees and the needle is gone, so Castiel makes his way back into his bedroom. There's about half of the bag left, and so he forces the rest of the powder into the syringe before tossing the back somewhere in the corner. Tap water stored in a bottle on his nightstand is poured into the syringe, and the solution turns cloudy with the powder. Castiel raises the needle to his left arm once more, just under his shoulder, and watches as the drug enters his system. A slow smile stretches across his face as the effects kick in.

- Break -

Castiel is lying on the bed, gasping for breath as he listens to the footsteps of his latest client fade away. Thankfully, this one had the courtesy to remove the handcuffs before he left, but Castiel still has to rub at the pink marks around his wrists to get rid of the sting. According to his schedule, this is the last service of the night, and Castiel climbs out of the bed, eager to get back to the apartment. He takes a glance over at the clock, and he sighs in relief when it reads midnight. It looks like it is one of those rare nights when he can end at a reasonable time.

The music is still blaring downstairs, and Castiel has to put his hands over his ears in order to hear his own thoughts. The floor is almost invisible beneath the crowd of grinding bodies. Wrapping his trench coat a little tighter around his body, he heads for Crowley's office.

"Hey sweetheart, why don't you come over here?" Castiel tries to ignore the calls of several obviously drunk men sitting at the bar as he ducks under the table. Immediately the bartender is glaring at him. Castiel already knew how this was going to end. The bartender would report to Crowley, and tell him that Castiel refused the advances of a paying customer. Crowley would shake his head at Castiel, and he would arrange for the most brutal of clients to be assigned to him. A few days later, everyone would forget about the whole ordeal and the pattern would continue. Either way, Castiel was too worn out to care.

Crowley already has the plastic bag on his desk waiting for Castiel when he enters. He doesn't speak as Castiel walks up and tucks the bag into his coat, but his voice stops Castiel as he is about to leave.

"You are late on your rent payment again." Crowley is looking at some reports on his desk, but his words are clearly aimed at Castiel.

"You would know why. You pay me after all." Castiel's voice is clipped. The fewer words he has to waste on Crowley the better.

"Look's like you are just going need to take more clients." Crowley suggests, but it's obviously an order. Castiel wants to make some witty retort, but he is saved from doing so (and possibly losing his source) when two people barge into the office.

"Crowley! Sir! There's a problem!" The taller of the two pants. There's a very obvious bruise on the left side of his face, and his companion doesn't look much better. "We were making a routine delivery, and the client claims we didn't give him the right amount. We got into a small fight with the client, and we might have attracted the attention of the police…"

"SO YOU LEAD THE COPS TO OUR BASE?" Crowley cuts in, screaming. "You worthless piece of trash! All of you!" His fists are clenched at his sides.

Suddenly, the sound of sirens travels in from the street. Crowley immediately stiffens, and his fingers unclench. There are sounds of tables turning and chairs crashing onto the floor as people on the dance floor rush to get away from the police. The bartender rushes into the office, but upon seeing Crowley straightening his suit and tie he instead runs back out to his station. Crowley glares at his two subordinates coldly.

"I'll deal with you two later. Go stand in the back." Crowley barely has time to speak before the door is kicked open and two uniformed police officers are entering the office.

"Are you the manager of this night club?" The taller of the two asks. His voice is deep; his green eyes callous as he glares down at Crowley. The other male seems much friendlier, or at least his height isn't nearly as intimidating. His eyes are bright and happy, and he looks out of place in a police uniform.

"Of course. My name is Fergus. To what do I owe the honor, officers?" Crowley answers without missing a beat, smiling at the policemen.

"We are tracking two people involved in a public brawl. They entered this establishment a few minutes ago. We have reason to believe they are involved in a drug dealing ring." The intimidating male responds. Crowley pushes the two Demon underlings forward.

"Do you mean these two? They just barged into my office a few minutes before you, begging for protection. Of course, I won't stand in the way of the law." Crowley waves them towards the officers. "They're all yours." One of the two underlings looks up at Crowley in shock, but says nothing. They know better than that, at least.

The officer is still looking at Crowley suspiciously as his partner handcuffs the two.

"Come on Dean, our work here is done. I want to get back to the station at a reasonable time tonight." The other officer says as he leads the two Demon underlings out to the police cars. Dean, however, doesn't move from his position glaring at Crowley.

"Is something else the matter, officer?" Crowley asks sweetly.

"Do you mind if we take a look around this nightclub?" Dean asks. Crowley smirks.

"Do you have a warrant?" Dean looks a bit taken aback at the question, but shakes his head. "Then I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Crowley waves his hand, dismissing the officer. Dean looks like he is about to argue, but there's no mistaking Crowley's logic.

Suddenly, Dean turns on Castiel, who is still standing silently in the corner. With a few strides, he's standing right in front of the other man, staring right at him. Castiel wants to back away, wants to keep himself as far away from everything this man represents as possible, but his eyes are locked on the green eyes of this police officer.

"What is your name?" Dean asks, one of his hands grabbing the left fold of the trench coat.

"Jimmy Novak…" Castiel manages to sputter out, his gaze never leaving the officers.

"I'm sorry officer, but I cannot allow you to manhandle my employee like that. Do I need to file a report with the station?" Crowley speaks up from behind Dean, but the officer pays him no attention. "Officer? I'm asking you to let go of my employee."

"Sorry, but I can't do that." With one swift movement, Dean's hand reaches into the inside pocket of Castiel's trench coat and pulls out the plastic bag hidden inside. "I can handcuff him though, and take him down to the station." Castiel finds himself up against the wall in a second, hands twisted uncomfortably behind his back as the officer snaps on a pair of metal handcuffs. Third time tonight.

Dean tucks the bag of cocaine into his pocket as he leads Castiel towards the door. He turns around to face Crowley before leaving. "And Fergus, was it? I'll be sure to come back with that warrant tomorrow."

Castiel finds himself being forced into a black unmarked car on the street outside the nightclub. The officer slides into the driver's seat.

"You alright back there?" Dean asks, and Castiel thinks he's imagining the soft tone of Dean's voice. "Look, don't be too scared alright? It's just a routine take in, and you'll only be charged with possession. It's not too bad." Castiel leans back against the soft upholstery, but refuses to answer the officer. "Not much of a talker are you? That's alright, just enjoy the ride. I know this isn't a regular police car; I had to get special permission to use it. My baby's much better than one of those rickety old models; she's a '67 Impala and she's beautiful." Castiel opts to look out the window instead of at the officer, watching as the nightclub fades away as the car pulls onto the main roads. He's never been happier to leave the place behind.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: Yay, Dean and Cas finally meet! Of course, Dean doesn't know it's Cas yet… Anyway, enjoy this next chapter. I don't know anything about cocaine addiction/police, so please tell me if I'm getting anything wrong. Reviews, pretty please?**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

The first thing Dean gets when he walks back into the police station is a hard smack from his supervisor. Captain Singer pulls his hand back as Dean raises his to rub at the rapidly reddening mark.

"Want to explain to me exactly why you thought it was a good idea to charge straight into a suspected gang base without back-up?" Dean waves his hand at a few officers to take his charge to the interrogation room before turning back.

"I know what I'm doing Bobby." He replies coldly.

"And why does that not make me feel better? Damn it you idjit you could have waited for back-up!" Captain Singer shakes his head. "Don't make me have to demote you back down to officer, Lieutenant Winchester." Dean has the sense to cringe just slightly at the use of his last name, but stands his ground.

"All three of them inflicted lots of damage on each other and the surrounding area; I couldn't just let them loose." Bobby raises an eyebrow and points to where Castiel was taken away.

"Then what about that guy? Who was he? Your latest conquest at the bar?"

"I found him at Fergus'; he had a bag of cocaine on him. He's being charged for possession." Dean replies. "Am I dismissed now?" Bobby just glares at him for a moment.

"Fine. But don't let me catch you doing something so stupid again. Dismissed, Lieutenant." Bobby rubs his eyes as he turns to walk back to his office. "Man I could really use that beer…" He mutters.

Garth almost crashes into Dean as Dean makes his way down to the interrogation halls.

"Hey! Dean! Just talked to the two drug dealers down there; they're Demons, just like we thought." Dean curses under his breath.

"I knew we should have gotten that Fergus son of a bitch while we were there. Now he'll know we're after him." Garth just shrugs.

"Whatever man. Seems like they were pretty low level on the chain anyway. Didn't help much. Anyway, I'm heading home. There's a hot tub with my name on it waiting for me. I'll leave that last guy to you, doesn't seem like he'll be too much trouble." With that, Garth is walking down the hall and turning the corner. Dean watches him leave, before turning back to head down to the interrogation room. The sooner he got this done the better.

When Dean enters the room, the man he handcuffed earlier is clawing at the wooden table. His head shoots up to stare at Dean as Dean takes a seat in front of him. Frankly, it's a little unnerving.

"So, Jimmy Novak is it? Now, I'm required to inform you of your rights and such. You have to right to remain silent, everything that you say can and will be used against you…" Dean stares straight at the man as he continues to read him his rights. Jimmy's still staring right at him, blue eyes unblinking, and Dean finds it very strange that a suspect would still meet his eye after so long.

"Now, Jimmy. Mind telling me why we found a bag of cocaine on you?" Dean asks. He's already seriously reconsidering this staring down the suspect technique. It's probably making him more uncomfortable than his suspect.

"Why do you care? It doesn't even matter. Shut up! Why am I in this room? You're going to kill me aren't you? Don't lie to me! Let me go!" Dean flinches a little at the sudden outburst. Jimmy struggles in his seat, but his hand is still cuffed to his chair.

"Whoa, relax man. No one's here to kill you. I just want to ask you a few questions…"

"Yeah? Then why don't I believe you? You're evil, plotting. Everyone's against me, I know it!" Dean stands up and walks towards the door as his suspect continues shouting. "My only friend is the shot. Why won't you let me see it? Don't leave me here alone!" Dean slips out of the interrogation room to talk to the officer stationed behind the one-way glass.

"He didn't react like this when we took him in, and he seemed willing to comply. Any idea why he's doing this now?" Dean asks the officer. She looks over at the evidence bag containing cocaine.

"Probably the withdrawal symptoms starting to kick in. Withdrawal from cocaine has no physical consequences, but it results in loss of energy, irritability, and heightened suspicion of everything." Dean sighs in annoyance.

"And here I was hoping to actually get some sleep today. How long do the symptoms last?" The other officer shakes her head.

"These things can vary. It depends on how long he's been addicted, and what his regular usage rate is. Usually it's around a week or two, although the cravings may last for months." She responds.

"We don't have a week. We have to move fast or that son of a bitch Fergus is going to get away."

"Well he obviously doesn't seem to be of much help in this state." The female officer says. "You'll probably have to wait a week after the symptoms subside before getting anything out of the guy." Dean sighs.

"Officer, what are the results of cocaine use?" He asks, eying the evidence bag behind them.

"Um, basically just a rush of pleasure, heightened energy and such. Why?"

"If someone were to be on cocaine, would they be more willing to cooperate?" Dean is moving towards the bag now. The other officer watches him carefully.

"Lieutenant, what you are suggesting is not only against the rules but highly dangerous. We have no idea how the suspect will react." Dean picks up the evidence bag and pulls a clean needle out from a nearby shelf.

"It's the only option we have. Just this once, and after he's given us the information we need, we'll work to get him clean so he can help us more in the long run." Dean flashes his fellow officer a smile. "As your lieutenant officer, I'm going to have to ask you to keep this from the others." He sees the woman blush, and Dean knows she has agreed. "Thank you." He is walking back into the interrogation room, prepared syringe in hand before she can reply. He lays the syringe down on the table in front of Jimmy as he takes his seat.

Jimmy's plunging the syringe into his arm before Dean has time to react, his expression immediately softening as the drug flows into his system. Dean doesn't have time to regret his decision as his suspect leans back on his chair and smirks – downright smirks – at him.

"Thanks."

"Don't expect this later on. We're going to get you clean afterwards, but I need you to cooperate right now." Dean's staring at Jimmy again, and instead of the suspicion from before, his suspect is smiling. He looks totally comfortable in his chair, and Dean wonders momentarily just who hates being in the room more.

"Of course, I'll be glad to help officer." Jimmy stretches out the glad, tilting his head to the side as he holds Dean's gaze.

"Why were you at Fergus' establishment tonight?" Jimmy laughs.

"Is that what he's calling himself? Personally, I prefer Crowley. Suits him better." Dean nods, making a mental note to remember the name. "He gives me what I need."

"Right, so he's your dealer?" Jimmy nods. His eyes seem vacant, unfocused, but he's still staring at Dean. "And how often do you take a shot?"

"I don't know. Whenever I feel like it."

"So are you usually under the influence of cocaine?"

"Generally, yes." Jimmy's still smiling. Dean can't decide if he prefers this Jimmy to the suspicious one from before.

"So can you tell us anything else about Crowley?" Dean's grasping at straws here, but he needs something to pin on Crowley.

"Probably. He's been getting me what I need for a year." Jimmy shrugs. "He's slick though, that one. He's going to be hard to convict."

Dean notices that Jimmy's still wearing his trench coat. The rookie officers should have searched him for more evidence, and kept the coat as it could contain hidden pockets. Maybe he'll speak to them later. "Jimmy, would you mind taking off your coat? I'm afraid I'm going to need to examine it." Jimmy's smile turns into what Dean could categorize as a flirtatious smirk.

"The other officers already did. If you really want me to, sure, but I believe it is a social norm that one doesn't talk to strangers while naked." Dean's eyes widen, but he tries to keep his surprise to himself.

"Right. You just keep it then. Well, have you ever noticed suspicious activity around your nightclub?" Dean's now pretty sure what Crowley had meant by "employee", and decides that Jimmy probably has valuable information.

"You mean like gang activity?" Jimmy laughs as the surprise shows on Dean's face. "Wasn't expecting me to pick up on that were you?"

"So you know that there has been gang activity involving Crowley?" Dean pries.

"Eh, maybe." Jimmy shrugs. "Can't actually tell you more though." Dean sighs in frustration. Yep, he definitely liked the other Jimmy better.

"How about this then, Jimmy. You tell me all you know about Crowley, and I'll drop charges." Dean offers. "The police force will help you get clean first, and we won't charge you for possession of cocaine. In return, you become an informant." Jimmy stares at him for a second.

"Nice deal, but I think I'll pass." Jimmy lets out a laugh.

"I don't think you quite understand your situation here, Jimmy. You're going to jail, and I'm offering you a way out." Jimmy just looks at Dean, a bored expression on his face.

"I'm not worried about jail. But… I think I'll help you." Dean knows there's an ulterior motive behind Jimmy's decision, but he is a little too desperate to care right now.

"Fine. But first, we get you clean." Maybe after the guy is clean, Dean can get a better read of him.

"What, no more free drugs? And I was just starting to enjoy it too." Jimmy leans back in his chair. Dean can feel the migraine coming up behind his forehead, and he moves to leave the room. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with this guy any more than necessary.

"I'll be back later to check on you. Some other officers will take care of you until then. After we get you clean, we'll set you up as a real informant." Dean walks out of the interrogation room and heads for the exit to the station, already dreaming of a hot shower and warm bed. Behind him, he thinks he hears the sound of Jimmy laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the wait. Like I said before, I'm really bad at updating. But, no matter how long this takes, I will never abandon it completely. I can't believe people actually like this. Thank you so much! Anyway, here's the next chapter. Sam is introduced, yay!**_

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, Destiel would have been canon in season 4.**_

Dean collapses on top of his desk in exhaustion, hearing the papers crinkle underneath him. He tosses his pen to the side angrily, watching it fall over the edge and disappear somewhere on the floor. He was going to have to pick that up later.

"Dean, you have absolutely no right to be complaining about paperwork." Dean just grunts at the sound of his brother voice. He can just imagine Sam now, leaning against the edge of the door, arms crossed and face set in that weird angry pout of his. Dean waves his brother off with a limp hand.

"Yeah, yeah I get it. You're the lawyer; you get to complain about the paperwork." He sighs. "Doesn't make the papers sign themselves though." Dean knows Sam is rolling his eyes right about now.

"Honestly Dean, if only you wouldn't procrastinate so much, maybe you wouldn't be left with so much work at the end of the month." Dean pushes himself up and off of his desk groggily. He lets out a loud yawn as he stands.

"I need a beer." He moves to walk around Sam on his way to the kitchen, but his brother stops him with a hand on his chest. Dean glares at him, realizes that he is looking up in order to do so, and glares harder.

"Dean, when was the last time you slept?" Sam doesn't even flinch under Dean's gaze.

"I don't know, yesterday?" Dean shrugs.

"And for how long?"

"What are you, my nurse?"

"How long, Dean"

"Three hours, maybe two." Sam sighs, and he gives his brother one of his famous so-called "bitch-faces." Number 53, he thinks this is.

"Go to sleep, Dean." Dean finally manages to push past Sam and makes his way down to the kitchen. Sam calls out after his brother, but Dean has already popped open a beer. However, just before he can take a sip, Dean's cell phone sounds. The beer in his hand overflows and drips all over his arms and shirt.

"Son of a bitch." Dean curses as he reaches for his cell. "This better be important, Bobby." Sam has made his way to the kitchen by now, and he snatches Dean's beer away from him before downing it. The glare on Dean's face is totally worth the burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat. Sam tosses the empty bottle out as Dean finishes his call with Bobby.

"What did Bobby want?" Sam asks. He might not be part of the police force, but Bobby has taken to calling him whenever the state employed lawyers are too busy to look closely at an important case. Sam was happy to help, even if it did mean a little less sleep every week.

"You know how we've been needing another officer in Homicide? Bobby's been interviewing many people over the last week, but someone just called in with amazing credentials. Like, too good to be true credentials. We suspect that someone, possibly Crowley, is trying to get a mole into the system." Dean responds. Sam looks a little confused.

"But why now? And why be so obvious about it?" Sam recalls the information his brother told him earlier about the new Demon gang leader. "If Crowley is as clever as you say, he would ease his way into the system. Something is making him scared and hasty to get someone on the inside."

"Well, we brought in a druggie the other day. Name of Jimmy Novak. All his information checks out, but we think he'll help us with Crowley. I offered to drop drug charges if he would get clean and become an informant." Dean furiously racks his brain for anything else that changed within the last few weeks. "Nothing else much has happened out of the ordinary." Sam doesn't look convinced.

"Either this Jimmy guy is a lot more valuable that we think or some new criminal mastermind wannabe is trying to make a name for him or herself." Dean watches as Sam goes into his "research mode." "I'm going to look up all I can about this Jimmy character, and look up any new crimes happening around the area." Sam is out of the kitchen and on his laptop before Dean has even processed his words. Unfortunately, Dean doesn't have time to join Sam in his research as his phone is ringing again.

"Bobby, what is it this time?"

Sam is jolted from his research when Dean lets out a (totally manly) yelp. A few insults and muttered curses later, he is graced with the presence of an extremely pissed off Dean Winchester.

"We're getting a roommate." Is all Dean says before he is heading off to his room to sulk. Sam just rolls his eyes and resumes his research.

- Break –

"And this is the place you'll be staying for the next few weeks until the symptoms fade." Sam looks up from his work when he hears the front door open. Dean walks in, followed by some male Sam didn't recognize. From the man's oversized trench coat, dark brown hair, and blue eyes, Sam could only infer that this was Jimmy. Upon closer inspection, Sam realized that Jimmy was twitching rather frequently and his eyes darted around the room.

"Hey, Jimmy right? I'm Sam. Don't mind Dean's bad manners, he's just being stupid."

"Bitch." Dean calls out from the kitchen where he disappeared off to.

"Jerk." Sam yells right back at him. He turns to smile politely at their guest. "So, Jimmy, I guess you'll be staying in the guestroom? It's down the hall to your right if you want to get settled." Jimmy doesn't answer Sam, simply walking down the hall and into his room. Sam hears the door slam shut.

"I can't believe we have to put up with him for the next month." Dean leans on the doorway to the kitchen. "I am never promising Bobby another favor ever again." Sam rolls his eyes at the blatant lie.

"Be nice Dean. The man has probably been through a lot. Besides, once this is over, he'll be of great help to the investigation." Sam returns to his laptop.

"Doesn't make my life any easier for the next month." Dean responds, taking a swig of his beer.

"Why does Bobby want Jimmy to stay with us anyway?"

"Something about making sure the informants are safe. He is still suspicious of the new recruit." Dean shrugs. "And we can't drop him off at the clinic because it'll be hard to watch over him there." Dean leaves off the sentence about the fate of the last two informants. Sam looks at him sadly, and Dean knows that his brother has noticed. Thankfully, Sam doesn't mention it.

"Right." Dean makes his way over to Sam and pears over his shoulder.

"What are you looking up?" Sam just waves Dean off, annoyed.

"Why don't you go entertain our guest? I have work to do." Dean fakes an offended look.

"And have to sit through him accusing me of murder? No thanks." Dean takes another sip of beer. Sam pushes his brother off the edge of his chair and away from him.

"Your fault for offering to get him clean. Now go deal with it." With a huff, Dean walks off to the guestroom.

Jimmy is sitting on the edge of the bed when Dean walks in. Dean is careful not to shut the door completely behind him, lest he have to make a quick escape.

"Hey man, are you alright?" Dean doesn't move any closer to Jimmy, trying not to trigger anything. Jimmy lifts his head to stare at Dean.

"Feed my pigeons."

"Excuse me?" If he was expecting Jimmy to say something, that was not it. "Your pigeons?"

"Yeah. I usually just leave some chopped up food for them out on my fire escape. I can't do that now, so I want you to go feed them for me." Jimmy is not smiling, and his eyes are still boring into Dean.

"Um… Sorry, but I have other things to do and…" Jimmy's head falls back down, and he looks just a little pitiful.

"I knew it." Jimmy says softly. "You were just coming to kill me." Dean takes a step back in shock.

"Wait what? Whoa. No one said anything about killing, Jimmy." Dean is not sure if he is glad that Jimmy hasn't starting freaking out yet. This quiet demeanor seems just as frightening.

"Of course you wouldn't say anything. Murderers don't just tell their victims they are going to kill them until the victim is incapable of escape." Jimmy seems so convinced. "If you're going to kill me, can you hurry it up?" Dean is very confused by now. A few days ago, Jimmy was screaming for Dean to let him go. When on cocaine, he turned into this confident, smirking tease. And now, a few days into the withdrawal, here was Jimmy acting so… compliant.

"How many times do I have to say this? No one's killing anyone." Jimmy doesn't look convinced, continuing to stare down at the floor. Dean sighs. "Jimmy, you're just here to get clean. When the symptoms stop, we'll let you go." Dean really hoped the man would become easier to read as he stabilized. If he was this changeable when he was clean, Dean wasn't sure how he was going to put up with him.

Thankfully, Dean is saved from having any more awkward staring contests with Jimmy when Sam calls for him from outside. He mutters a soft "See you later" at Jimmy before slipping out of the room, making sure to close the door behind him. As an afterthought, Dean reopens the door to take another look at Jimmy.

"We'll go feed your pigeons tomorrow alright?" Dean closes the door before Jimmy can respond, and misses the soft smile on his face.

Sam waits for Dean in the living room, laptop turned towards his brother.

"Dean, you ran all the preliminary checks on Jimmy right?" Sam asks.

"Yeah. Medical records, family members, everything checked out. Guy even went through a divorce a while back, we think that might have caused him to get into drugs. Why?" Sam sighs, and gestures toward his computer screen.

"Because up until three years ago, Jimmy Novak didn't exist."


End file.
